


Fever Dream

by maliwanhellfire



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian almost dies, Gen, I don't want to spoil it, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4654317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliwanhellfire/pseuds/maliwanhellfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He looked down, expecting to see a rock or a sandbag. Instead there was a bolt lodged in the middle of his chest, still bloodless. The second one hit before he raised a barrier, and it landed right next to the first one.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dorian has a heritage. Everyone from Tevinter does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Adoribull Sunday Prompt -Sad Adoribull – Assassination attempt – After the rumors reach Dorian’s parents about his very serious relationship with a Qunari they decide “A dead son is better than a shamed one”. Justjaspers tragedy prompt.
> 
> So, this belongs in the Sunday Prompts collection I have but it wound up being close to four thousand words so it gets its own post god fucking damn it. 
> 
> Also I apologize to theladylily that it took over a week. 
> 
> And um, I know it's rude to ask but if you liked it and had time to comment, I would really appreciate it. I am very tired, and this could probably use a proofread but I think it turned out well.

Dorian always left Bull’s room around dawn. He knew that if he stayed any later that people would see and people would talk. They had before. Of course it never went past talking, but he couldn’t shake the fear he felt when he thought of anyone knowing about his personal affairs. He was too used to secrecy to even know if privacy was something he valued or gathered by habit.

Still, he did pause for a moment to look at Bull, warm and sleeping, before he closed the door behind him. As he walked back to his room, Dorian looked to the east, where the sunrise was pink and orange. He leant over the battlements, taking in the play of light over the mountains. Skyhold was frigidly cold, but it was at least beautiful to look at it. In its own way.

Something hit him, hard, in the chest, and he was sure it was another prank from Sera, only he was too winded to shout at her. He looked down, expecting to see a rock or a sandbag. Instead there was a bolt lodged in the middle of his chest, still bloodless. The second one hit before he raised a barrier, and it landed right next to the first one.

 

\---

 

He braced against the battlements, legs drawn in after a bolt had struck the stone floor close to his feet. The nearest door to him was Bull’s, so he shuffled closer to it, keeping low wherever there was a gap in the stone. It was slow going. He couldn’t breathe too well, and when he wiped his hand over his mouth, it came back bloody. He didn’t try to pull the bolts.

Dorian considered the gap between the stone railing and Bull’s room. It was only a few metres, but he’d be exposed for as long as it took him to crawl there. Long enough to aim again.

The cold was creeping into his bones. He knew it wasn’t a good sign. If he were going to do something, he’d need to decide in short order, or else leave it to chance. The guards would be doing their rounds in about an hour, which Dorian knew because he usually made sure to avoid them. An hour would be a long time in his state.

He looked up at the hole in Bull’s roof, and wondered just how cranky Bull would be if something came through it. Probably quite. Dorian looked to his side and saw a much bigger blood trail than he was expecting.

“Goin’ t’be ‘wful getting that out of th’ grout,” Dorian mumbled to himself.

It was harder to channel the mana than he thought it would be, the lightning feeling slippery in his hands. The bolt didn’t even touch the roof; it left a black spot on the battlements and motes in Dorian’s eyes. The crack of thunder was horribly loud though, and Dorian thought maybe that would be enough for someone to come exploring. He leant a little too far to the left and didn’t bother to fight the slide down to the floor. He fell fast enough to jar his shoulder, and when he cracked his head on the ground he didn’t even feel it.

 

\---

 

When he woke up he did. Felt like his head and his chest were broken open. When he craned his head down, he found that one of those was apparently true. His torso was white with thick bandages. A palm touched his forehead and gently pushed him back to lying down. He couldn’t see very well, but what he could define was grey and compact about the head section.

“Ink?” He slurred.

He sounded horribly drunk and his tongue felt like a limp piece of meat more than a living organ. Unbecoming. Unpleasant.

Dorian closed his eyes. He could hear something, but it was like singing under water, faded and indistinct. When inhaled too deeply the pain in his sternum became knife sharp. The shocked cry that came out of him only made it worse. The cool hand came back, and everything faded out.

 

\---

 

Dorian opened his eyes and it was evening, the windows dark and the lanterns lit. He was in his own room, in his own bed, tucked under the covers. He turned his head a little, moving slowly and stopping when he felt a twinge. Vivienne was sitting beside him, posture perfect. She was looking at the fire that was burning in the hearth, her lips flat and serious.

“Who let you in?” Dorian said, voice rasping. “It’s polite to knock, y’know.”

Vivienne jolted a little, though just a little, and then she was out of the chair and standing beside him. She touched his cheek, and looked into his eyes, holding the lids further open between forefinger and thumb. Dorian lifted his arms to bat her away, only to find that they weren’t listening, and he wasn’t moving.

“Nnnn,” He whined, turning his cheek.

 “Sorry, Darling,” Vivienne said. “I just needed to…”

She took a breath in and then let it out, shuddering. So unlike her.

“How do you feel?” She asked.

Dorian thought about it. He couldn’t breathe too deeply, and the covers were so heavy. And…

“Oh, hello Vivienne,” Dorian said. “How did you get in here…”

Her lip seemed to be wobbling. He’d never seen it do that before. He didn’t like it.

“Are you quite alright?” He asked.

“Sleep a little more,” She said, voice thick. “I’ll get you some broth.”

“Who _are_ you?” Dorian asked.

Vivienne raised a hand to her mouth, the other clenching against her tunic, wrinkling it.

“Really, you’re not the maid…” Dorian added, closing his eyes.

He was fairly sure he heard something like a sigh of relief, but that was far too odd. He wondered if he was dreaming. Why else would Vivienne be in his room?

 

\---

 

There was shouting, deep and high, muffled like singing under water. His chest hurt a little, but it felt better, he was fairly sure. He’d no idea what he’d done to it, but it had been something nasty. Maybe he’d fallen down a hill, or walked into Bull’s maul.

He was very warm, too. Much too warm for all the covers on his bed. He pawed at them weakly but they did not move. It felt like he was pushing through molasses. His body was kitten-weak.

The shouting got louder, and Dorian opened his mouth to call out to whoever was fighting. A slurred groan came out. He couldn’t move his tongue. He couldn’t feel his tongue. That was… Bad. Definitely bad, and somewhat familiar.

“Where have you been?” Someone screamed, loud enough to be heard through the door.

Last time he’d been ill, Bull had brought him soup. It had been quite nice. He’d seasoned it a little so it wasn’t bland, but not so much that it upset his stomach. Bull was very thoughtful that way. He was mischief, but he didn’t kick a man while he was down. And he was strong and soft, and Dorian liked him. Missed him, too. Felt like ages since he’d seen him. He’d go looking for him when he felt better.

 

\---

 

He could feel hand on his wrist, fingers light against his pulse-point. Dorian cracked his eyes. It was too difficult to move them more than that. His entire body was damp with sweat, like it had been during the peak of summer in Tevinter. Was he _in_ Tevinter? The things he’d seen in his fever dreams, that green tear in the sky, he’d have to tell Felix.

There was a girl in front of him, an elf, with rough-cut hair and large, pensive eyes. Sweet looking thing, though she probably had some bite to her. Seemed like she would, anyway.

“You’re still in there,” She said. “You are, right?”

Dorian wasn’t sure he was. He’d left the party early, after the host had taken ill, and his father had said _Dorian, there’s something I want you to see_.

Fever, like fever. Like feverlikefeverlikefever… The girl’s grip went tight on his arm, and it hurt a bit, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. His breath rattled from his lungs, and if he even could speak, he felt too tired to do it.

_Like fever, Dorian. Just like fever._

 

\---

 

Next he woke, the world was a little cooler, and he could open his eyes without having to brace himself. Sera was sitting, cross-legged, at the foot of his bed, and he could smell spiced soup. He looked to the side, and saw Krem looking right back at him.

“Avanna,” Dorian rasped.

He felt Sera scramble up, her knees knocking painfully against his feet. She was up and out the door without a word, and even if she slammed it, at least she’d left it closed.

“ _Good to see you awake_ ,” Krem said in Tevene.

He’d never heard Krem speak it before, hadn’t ever tried to open up a conversation with the other man in their native language, not beyond passing pleasantries. It was a welcome change that Dorian never would have asked for.

“ _What time is it? Am I late for anything?_ ” Dorian asked, his voice only a little slurred.

“ _For a given value, no,_ ” Krem replied.

Dorian shifted, moving his elbows so he could push himself up. Krem put a hand on his chest to stop him, and then slipped his arm behind Dorian’s back. He lifted Dorian up without difficulty, his free hand jamming extra pillows behind Dorian’s back before letting him recline again. Dorian felt exhausted afterwards, although he wasn’t so tired that he couldn’t appreciate how Krem’s muscled arm had felt around him. He was poorly; not dead. Bull would probably find it amusing if he told him.

“ _Have you seen Bull?_ ” Dorian asked. “ _Feels like forever since I last saw him._ ”

His thoughts were hazy, but he knew it couldn’t have been more than a day or so. They’d spent the night together just…

Krem was being very quiet.

“ _What day is it?_ ” Dorian asked.

“ _Never you mind, come on, I made you some soup. And you should appreciate it because I don’t like to cook,_ ” Krem replied.

It was quite nice soup.

 

\---

 

Dorian felt much better the next day. Talking was easier, and he only felt a little warm. His chest was still healing, but he could breathe fairly well.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Ink said, her face bright and weak with relief.

“My apologies,” Dorian replied. “But you know how I like to make a scene.”

“Such a peacock,” Ink said fondly.

“So, I was shot in the chest.”

“Twice.”

“Sounds very exciting, pity I can’t remember it.”

“It was…” Ink’s eyes clouded, and Dorian felt a stab of guilt. “Well, we got you stable and then…”

Dorian held his hand out, and Ink took it in both of hers. She squeezed gently before relaxing, but she didn’t let go.

“You were so sick,” Ink said.

Dorian linked their fingers together. He couldn’t remember much of anything before waking up the previous day. He imagined he didn’t really want to.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” He said.

“Oh, hush,” She replied. “Do you think you could eat?”

“I’m starving,” Dorian said.

Ink smiled warmly.

“I’ll get you some broth,” She said.

 

\---

 

It was hot. It was so hot, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“ _How could you?_ ” His mother screamed, loud enough to be heard through the parlor door.

The rest was softer, muffled like singing under water. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. Dorian was supposed to be in bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He was too wound up from the party and what his father had showed him after, in their fenced garden.

“ _This,_ ” His father had said, pointing at a pale flower, “ _has a pollen that paralyses the body, and then heats it up. With a low dose over time it looks just like fever, and if you’re careful no one will think it’s anything else._ ”

Dorian leant a little closer, and his father pulled him back.

“ _Be careful, if you do inhale it, it will be metabolized quickly, but it won’t be a pleasant few days,”_ His father said. “ _It takes more than that, to cook someone from the inside out._ ”

 

\---

 

_Like fever, like fever, like fever…_

His father had wanted Dorian to know that it was him.

 

\---

 

 _“The easiest way is to put it in their favourite decanter._ ”

“ _Or if you want to risk it, bribe the kitchen staff to put it in their food.”_

 

\---

 

He could still twitch his fingers, but any sound he made was meaningless and moaning. He was so hot, and the world was hazy, and he was scared.

And he knew exactly who was killing him.

He wondered why Bull hadn’t visited. He would have liked to have seen him one more time. He would have liked to have done a lot of things differently.

 

\---

 

He couldn’t open his eyes anymore, but he could still feel his peripheries. A large hand was holding onto his, and he assumed it was Ink’s. She liked to hold his hand without saying anything. Vivienne tended to talk quietly and keep him up to date on gossip. The Chargers had been called out on a job, and Sera wasn’t talking to anyone anymore, which was disconcerting the entire Keep. Cullen had come by once, but he hadn’t stayed for long.

Bull hadn’t called in and no one had mentioned him.

Dorian brushed his fingers against Ink’s palm, which felt more calloused than he remembered. He didn’t want to upset her, but he hated being made silent, not being able to communicate _anything_.

“Dorian?”

It was right near his ear, voice so sad and deep.

 _Bull_.

His pulse jumped, and Dorian hoped Bull wouldn’t notice, because it was far too much to have him there and not be able to do anything about it. Dorian wasn’t even sure what he could say. There was too much, and maybe it was pointless. Maybe it was time to make peace with what was, instead of railing against what could have been, like he had his whole life.

“I tried, Dorian,” Bull said, still close. “I tried, but it’s not enough.”

Dorian rather thought that he could have visited, but Bull couldn’t do much about that.

Something splashed against his cheek, and Dorian flinched just a little. He felt a cloth brush the wetness away. It made him feel a little softer about the whole thing. Bull had always taken care of him when they were together, and it was nice to know that Bull would miss him, in a selfish way.

“I’m so sorry Kadan.”

Dorian thought about it, if there was anything he could do that had sway. Bull’s palm was still warm under his fingertips.

He twitched his index finger to the side, in the smallest curve, then down a little more. It was barely anything, he wasn’t sure it would register as a ‘p’. He wasn’t sure whether he’d imagined it; if he just thought he was moving, the way people did when they had sleep paralysis.

“Dorian?” Bull asked. But Dorian could no longer answer him.

It was so hot, and he was so very tired.

 

\---

 

Dorian woke. He had not expected to. He’d expected to die sometime in the night after his liver and kidneys finally shut down. Instead he felt… Better.

It wasn’t the same as good, but it was better.

He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Varric, because that was exactly what he needed after a near-death experience. Dwarf chest hair and improperly worn shirts. He was in Dorian’s armchair, slouched like a hooligan. He also had a jar of ink out, and if he spilled so much as a drop of it, Dorian was going to… He probably wasn’t going to do anything. He felt too weak to move that much.

Dorian thought about closing his eyes again, but he huffed one breath to many and Varric finally noticed. Just like that, he was out of the chair.

“Holy shit, Sparkler, you’re up! Come on, speak to me.”

Dorian coughed, and glared violently at the quill Varric was holding, the one that had a precarious drop of ink pooled at the end of it. Varric laughed and put it down and away, steadied against a piece of blotting paper. Dorian subsided, folding his hands weakly against his stomach. Varric laughed in a way Dorian hadn’t heard before. It was more tense than he was used to.

“Even when you’re silent, I can hear your outrage,” Varric said. “I need to write that down… I need to… Poor guy’s going to be so cut up he missed this… I’ll be right back.”

Varric was off and out the door before Dorian could even try to nod.

There wasn’t anybody else hanging about. It was rude, really. He knew everyone was busy but it would’ve been nice to have just a few people checking in and waiting for him to die. Or not, as the case was.

Unless they started feeding him poisoned broth again, and he really hoped not, because he was not a cheap novel sequel, and he did not wish to repeat the same plot twice, verbatim.

Dorian closed his eyes after a few minutes, wondering if he could while away a little time napping, but he wasn’t tired enough. He was bloody thirsty though. That was another thing worth getting mad over. What sort of man ran out the door on an invalid without offering him a glass of water first? The jug was on the bedside table, for Andraste’s sake. Dorian had cups there.

“Prick,” Dorian hissed.

Something very loud was running down the hall outside his room, and right before it would’ve passed him, the door slammed open. Pushed so fast it actually bounced off the wall.

“Mind the handle,” Dorian croaked, looking balefully at it.

He looked back at the doorway and there was Bull, breathing hard, with Ink right behind him. He was frozen the way birds froze, when they weren’t sure whether to hide or take flight. His eye kept flickering over Dorian’s face; catching his gaze before running away from it. Dorian was sure no one had ever looked at him like that, disbelieving and bereft, like Dorian was something he’d thought he’d never see again.

“Bull?” Dorian said, and just like that, Bull was beside him, on his knees even though Dorian knew it hurt him to do it.

He couldn’t help the spike of satisfaction he felt, at the thought of Bull hurting a little, proving himself that way after he’d left Dorian alone for so long. What they had didn’t have a name, but maybe he wanted it to. Maybe he wanted better than that.

“Where were you?” Dorian asked.

“I was getting lunch,” Bull said, sounding very repentant.

Dorian snorted.

“I wanted to be here when you woke up,” Bull said. “When you… If you hadn’t written on my hand, we wouldn’t have…”

“We thought it was a relapse,” Ink said, closer than Dorian had thought she would be.

“You were so weak, it looked like you’d caught something and couldn’t fight it off,” Bull said.

“Yes it’s, um,” Dorian’s throat felt thick. “Well, that’s what it’s supposed to do. Supposed to look like, I mean.”

Ink was wringing her hands together, just a little. She looked so sad for him that it was difficult to keep his eyes on her. He looked at Bull instead, and to his surprise he could see the same mourning mirrored on his face. He wasn’t sure Bull deserved that, to hurt _for_ him.

Dorian coughed again, and finally, _finally_ , someone saw fit to give him some water. Ink poured, and Bull held it up to his lips. It tasted better than fine wine. After a few sips, Dorian pushed Bull’s hand away, and Bull put the cup down.

“Where _were_ you?” Dorian asked again.

Bull swallowed visibly, but he didn’t hide from Dorian’s stare.

“When I saw what they’d done to you, I was upset,” Bull said. “I didn’t handle it well.”

When Bull didn’t say anymore, Dorian raised his brows. It was an answer but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t going to let Bull skate by on truths that told him nothing, not with this.

“He went out stalking through the countryside,” Ink said, nudging Bull in the back.

“Looking for what?” Dorian asked.

“The people who hurt you,” Bull replied.

“Did you find them, in the end?”

“Had Cole spy on the kitchen staff, he found someone lacing your broth, we worked from there.”

“Best way to do it, if someone doesn’t have an evening glass of brandy,” Dorian said. “Although come to think of it, I’m sure there are more sensible ways. Father never had very much imagination.”

Ink and Bull were silent for a moment.

“A kitchen hand shot me?” Dorian asked, the thought nettling him.

“No, that was…” Ink began.

Bull cut her off, “They’re not with us anymore,” He said.

“Can’t get good help these days,” Dorian said mildly.

Bull took a shuddering breath, and when he put his hands up on the blankets, Dorian took them in his own. It felt a little like forgiveness, the hurt already draining out of him. He couldn’t be too mad if Bull had gone off to avenge him. He’d probably been very intense about it, and scary looking. Dorian was sure Varric had taken notes.

Bull held Dorian’s hands up, and kissed his knuckles, and Dorian’s heart skipped in his chest. He tugged slightly and Bull moved in closer, face lined with relief and old hurts. Dorian could see Ink sidling towards the door from the corner of his eye.

“I missed you,” Dorian said. “Don’t do that again.”

Bull shook his head.

“I won’t, Kadan.”

“You’ll stay?” He asked, even though Ink was right there, and the words were honest enough to hurt him very badly if…

“As long as you’ll let me,” Bull said.

Dorian leant forward, enough that he could rest his brow against Bull’s. He closed his eyes. He heard the door to his room shut much more quietly than it had been opened.

“And you wouldn’t mind if… That morning, I shouldn’t have…”

Bull shushed him, his thumb brushing Dorian’s cheeks.

“Can I stay too?” Dorian asked.

“As long as you like,” Bull replied.

“Good,” Dorian said. “That’s good.”

Bull kissed him softly on the lips.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Bull replied, and then he kissed him twice and again, as gentle as the first time.

 

 

 


End file.
